This World
by BlowersDaughter
Summary: Updated...sorry it took so long. Post Hogwarts, Hermione settles into a new life without almost everything she knew. Everything except one person Draco Malfoy. Passions develop for eachother, but aren't hidden for that long.
1. Chapter 1

1**Disclaimer- I do not own any of these characters. I just like to write about them.**

Chapter 1.

One thing Hermione loved about summer was that she could read. A lot. Whatever she wanted. Whenever she wanted. It could be for school. It could be romance. It could be mystery. It could be a magazine about hair, for all she cared. However, it wasn't about the genre of the book or the material at hand. Hermione read because it took her somewhere else. She could be in the heroin's world. Or just a person watching it first hand. Frankly, she'd needed that lately.

If nothing had happened, she would have been finished with her seventh year at Hogwarts. If life had stayed the way it always had, she would have graduated by now, and on her way as an auror. But something did happen, and life did not stay the way it always had. "The War"–as everyone had come to call it, in awe, in fear– was over. Everyone was safe. Families slept. The sun shined. Laughter could be heard in the streets. Laughter hadn't escaped Hermione's lips din three months, since "The Great Battle". All these wars, battles. She was sick of hearing it as if it belonged in history books. Hermione knew that in ten years or so, a girl just like her would read about it, drink it down, store it in her own mental records of the magical world. To Hermione, it wasn't history. It was the saddest, most frightening, nerve jarring day in she would ever suffer through. She lost loved ones, her friends, companions. Sure, the world was saved, and it was a win for all things good, the light side. But she lost. Lost almost everything important to her. She was broken in a way. She lived, but so much of her was dead.

Before it all happened, the Great Battle, she'd been preparing for any and everything that might come her way. Losing Harry. Even Ron. Classmates, teachers, idols, mentors. But they were all gone. Even the families of anyone involved had been slaughtered. Every last one died. She wasn't prepared to lose both of them. Ron died saving her. Of course he did, she thought, if he went down, he went down like a lion, a true Gryffindor As for Harry, no words could relate what he had done. In the last altercation and confrontation between Voldemort and Harry, it was discovered that Harry himself was the seventh Horcrux. And suddenly, nothing else mattered. Put simply, though, he sacrificed himself for mankind, wizardkind, and those purely innocent and oblivious to what was taking place.. His life floated away, carrying with it the constant fear of sudden death. The Boy Who Lived was dead.

The only people that she knew and could think of that had lived were Lupin, thank the lord, and Draco Malfoy. But Draco Malfoy didn't count. She couldn't yet think of him as human. She'd heard the stories of the mind control games he had been under. She didn't believe any of that crap. For six years she looked into his gray, cold, soulless eyes. As far as she was concerned, he didn't have a heart then, and he didn't now.

All of that brought her here, in London. She was taking a break from the world that broke her heart every time she thought about it. She had taken time to learn how to drive so that everyday, she took her mother's car into the city. She worked as a clerk in a small boutique, but mostly folded sweater-sets and hanging up belt. The 15 discount didn't hurt, though. In her afternoons, she would eat lunch and escape to yet another world at Stacks, the bookstore and café in one(there was one on every corner now). It was good therapy for her, to be in a routine that was safe and light. She knew, though, that she would have to return soon. Return to Diagon Alley, to the Castle, to the world that looked so dark and dismal.

She was set to return in October, just before Halloween. She had signed papers for her own apartment, on a street just off of Diagon Alley called Vane Lane. As a godsend, she was offered a job by Lupin as part of a firm that investigated magical, well, mysteries. She was so accustomed to rooting around where her nose may not have belonged, used to using her knowledge to find something that not many people knew about. And maybe, just maybe she would be helping people. She wasn't exactly sure the range of services this firm performed. She wasn't even sure of the name of the firm. She might be lonely, because the only person she knew there would be Lupin. One thing she was sure of was that she would work with Remus Lupin any day.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. I just like to write about them. Same as the last chapter.

**Chapter 2**

Hermione tumbled into the dark memory that she couldn't rid herself of. She struggled, clawing at the walls of her mind to keep her from experiencing the nightmare once more. Each time she felt more powerless, like a bystander, or just watching it as a sad, horrifying tragedy.

Ron's body lay strewn across the stone floor in the Great Hall, blue eyes clearer than ever. He had entered first, crashing in after the hoard of death eaters that had intended on sealing the room to watch as the boy-who-lived lost all. His strategy was bold--grabbing the coat tails of one Bellatrix Lestrange. Stupefying her, he dragged her along to a wall in seconds and made her his human shield. As soon as his makeshift fox hole was set up, he spat out curses faster than they could fly from the tip of his wand. After all this distraction, Dumbledore's Army trooped in along with Lupin, Tonks, and Moody. She saw a confused, unreadable Draco, poised and seemingly ready for anything. He looked as if he didn't belong there, torn almost. But she was too busy dodging blue, green, and orange streaks of light that danced and bounced of the wall of the hall. Death eaters went down one right after the other, but it seemed that it was a losing battle. When Bellatrix became to heavy to hold up, Ron joined the rest of the crew at the front with Hermione and Neville, as two death eaters rounded a pillar.

"CRUCIO!" they yelled simultaneously. Ron dove into the path of the fatal curses, crashing into Hermione. Threw of balance, she smashed her head into one of the sturdy oak tables she had eaten, laughed, and planned at so often the past seven years. She saw the corner of it in passing as her body spun to the ground, and then a crack and burst of pain that sent shock through her body. The black that ensued was something she would resent for the rest of her life.

Hermione awoke some time later, not knowing whether is was ten, thirty minutes, or even a whole hour since she saw Ron's terrified but peaceful face pass her. It was much quieter than before. She didn't know whether she should move, or if she was dead and ready to leave her human form. Her wand's smooth, cold surface lay under her hand. _I can feel it, _she thought, _oh what is that putrid smell? Smoke. Blood. No. No. Where is everyone? Oh, God it's too quiet. Harry! Ron! _Twenty more thoughts sped through her mind as she sat up from her awkward position against a bench. She turned her head slightly, as more pain shot down her back and then traveled up to her head. There lay Ron, as Hermione delicately crawled towards him. She realized soon, as she surveyed the entire area and not speaking a word, that every single one was dead. Agonized faces, backs of the victims at odd angles. Her breath escaped her chest once more. The heat piercing and burning her eyes became too much as a small sob escaped her lips. Ginny's tragic, young face pointed up with eyes shut tightly. Tonks' hair had turned to a solid, pure white as she lay, her hands were folded neatly at her chest. _Oh Lupin._ She grieved for him too, not knowing if he had escaped.

Her eyes reached the head of the hall where Dumbledore used to greet the new, blossoming students every year. There stood Harry, wand pointing towards the shadows, as he spun slowly.

"Isn't this what you wanted, Voldemort? Me? Alone? Well, here I am, standing in the one place you knew you'd never belong. The one place you knew you could never deserve. Now that my family, friends, teachers, any one I have ever cared about is dead–not to mention all of those innocent lives you destroyed for your sick enjoyment–I'm alone for you to take." His voice broke and quivered, but returned to full strength as he bellowed this last part. "But hear this, you soulless, pitiful coward: I am not yours to take. MY LIFE ISN'T LEAVING THIS BODY UNLESS YOU COME WITH ME!" A green ball of flame erupted into the head of the Great Hall as the pointed, waxen, sallow-faced Dark Wizard swooped into presence, with those red eyes burning.

Just like that, she couldn't move as the green smoke ensued. It filled her lungs with such efficiency that as soon as she could stop herself from breathing, she fell. The burning, scraping, seething pain swelled inside her; she couldn't walk, run, cough. She was left paralyzed, lifeless as a corpse. Hermione wasn't dead. She was screaming inside so loud it deafened all other thoughts. She was screaming because of the pain, because she was powerless, because she was frightened, but mostly because she couldn't help him. She could still hear Harry. Hermione heard him bellowing curses and counter-curses as beams and bricks fell around them.

At first she didn't understand what they were yelling, it was some different language. _Parsel tongue, of course_. The eerie hisses glided over the sounds of crumbling Hogwarts like mercury; never ceasing, never contracting but steadily continuing. She remembered Harry being stowed away in Sirius's house nearly the whole summer, hunched over ancient, dark, dusty books that she had tried to read but couldn't decipher. _So this is what he was preparing himself for,_ she assured herself, _Harry was getting ready to fight fire with fire. _She could feel herself begin to relax and began to kick her legs as leverage to pick herself up. Peering over the table, the languid hissing's volume rose as the emerald fires surrounding everything glowed brighter. The sweltering, glowing room crashed down to join the lifeless bodies that lay on the ground. Hermione's gaze made it to the head of the hall. Voldemort was pushing himself up in a feeble attempt to regain his composure. There stood the boy-who-lived, staring down at the abomination who called himself a Lord.

"There's no way out, you snake," Harry seethed. Harry made a gash in his right hand and the blood seeped out, thick and red. As he loomed, he placed a booted foot over Voldemort's chest and pinned him down. He mirrored the cut on his own hand onto Voldemort's right. As he did this, Voldemort threwa disarming curse his wayThrown back, Harry kept hold of his wand. Voldemort peered at Harry, knowing something was out of his control. He could smell that he didn't have much time.

Using his left, unwounded hand, Voldemort stuck his arm out straight, back poised, and ready for the last duel. Harry mirrored the dark wizard's stance. Hermione could feel the heat that passed between the eyes of the two.All went silent. The burning, the bricks falling. The only thing that could be heard was the spell uttered between the two. Avada Kedavra. A green beam of light met and joined in between the two. Brightening, it thinned into a string and drew the two together. Voldemort reluctantly ceded to the power, staggering almost. But Harry, oh, did he float to his match. His face was calm, serene, and knowing of what he had to do. The now pale green string of light became an orb that each of them seemed to be connected to. When they were no more than an inch from each other, Harry uttered the last word.

"This is the end. The end of me. And so, the end of you." Harry grabbed Voldemorts gashed right hand with his own bleeding hand, as if sealing a pact made by the two. The now, pure white orb glowed and expanded, consuming the two in a wave of energy. A warm wind blew past Hermione as face turned away from the blinding explosion.

It was all over in a moment or two. But the peace that the white spread over her was calming and she felt weightless. She wanted to go with Harry, to take her with him. _Please, anything. I can't stay here. No one's left. You, Ron, Ginny, oh their whole family. Oh, God, please don't leave me in this hard, cold place. Please. _And then it was gone. The warmth was swept away in an instant, leaving her in the burning castle. She didn't know how much time she had. She just wanted to lay there and die. It would be so easy for her. And then, she was lifted. Weightless again, but not by the light. A man's jacket. _Whose? Why? No, leave me here. Stop it. NO. I can't GO! _Hermione began to struggle against the person, but she couldn't breathe through the smoke. She choked, and faded into sleep. She woke a week later, she learned from nurses. Lupin was by her side, dozing in and out. He listened to Hermione and later explained what everything meant. The gash, blood joining together, as if full circle. Harry was the last, final Horcrux. It made sense to her then. Harry was the boy-who-lived in the past. Harry was also the boy who died for all of mankind.

Any night she had slept since that day, Hermione was taken away to that memory. That was why she read. She became an insomniac, in fear of living reality over and over again. She needed to escape that reality, avoid it. Anything but go back to the torture of powerlessness. Why had Ron saved her? She was quicker than him, on his best day. Why did she have to miss everything? She asked all of these questions. But one that plagued her head so often: Who saved her? The logical answer seemed Lupin. Of course, why not? He was still alive. He was there during the entire thing. However, a feeling nagged at her gut. A memory at the back of her mind, squeezed behind something, not able to find its way to her consciousness. _Who? Who else. Nothing makes sense but Lupin. _She made it an affirmation that is was indeed, Lupin. It was common logic.


	3. Chapter 3

1Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. JK Rowling does.

**Chapter 3**

The small flat she rented had built itself in her head as dank, dusty, and lit by the (rarely present) sunlight. As she slipped the skeleton key into the lock, feeling it click into place, she opened up to a new, and hopefully less painful chapter of her life. She walked into a spacious, two-room layout. The one great room, in front of the door, could obviously be used as a living room, dining room and kitchen off to the left, from the door. The back splash depicted country scenes, which, when no one was looking had a girl and boy playing games and tricks on eachother. Her heels clicked on the uneven maple-colored floor as she made her way straight past the kitchen into a small corridor, with a bathroom to her left and another narrow door to her left. Her yellow bedroom, which overlooked Vane Lane, gleamed with it's hardwood floors in the sunlight that poured in at 11:30 a.m.

"I cannot believe...how did I get this lucky? I don't understand how I came to get this flat." she said, partly to herself.

"Your friend, Mr. Lupin there, jumped on it as soon as news came in that the miss-uss Desperta went missing. She was one of those sucked into that mind-lock thing there, I tell ya. Old Desperta wasn't the same for the past month or two. Always in and out at the odd ends of some nights. Not what you think an old witch as herself does, well did, really. I guess I just can't..."

As the landlord rambled on in his thick Welsh accent, Hermione was caught on Tamberlyn's suspicion. Another supposed case of mind-control? Complete bollocks, the things that some people came up with in dark times.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I gave you the first two month's rent in there, yeah?" She blurted, cutting Tamberlyn off.

"Yes, Miss, it's right here," he held up a small bag with an amount of coins. "Will that be all, then?"

"Yes, my belongings are due to arrive within the next two hours." Hermione shooed the man out of the door, locking it behind him. She wandered around for a while before opening the window in her bedroom, and surveying the street below. Busy, she thought, but not crowded so they must be regulars. Hermione noticed no major establishments; a small saloon, a grocer, as well as a general supply store by the name "No Toils, No Troubles." She chuckled to herself, because she knew that the wizarding world had a way of mocking the muggle world for it's stereotypical way of addressing the notion. A very true notion. _I think I can handle this. Yes, yes I can. _At the moment when Hermione was beginning to soak up that sunshine, a loud POP came from the living area.

"Oh my heavens, I need to get to work." She told herself this, as she picked her wand out of her pocket. Standing in front of her was a cube, but not just any ordinary cube. A humongous cube of furniture, pictures, and boxes held themselves together within a net. One Pop, a moving service, had bundled all of her belongings together in a solid pack, a cube, stored it for 30 minutes, and then apparated the bundle to her new home. She had never imagined that moving everything she ever owned to one place would be so easy.

Using her wand to detatch the net, Hermione neatly folded it, and sent it on its way to the moving service. Next, she picked out her baggage and rummaged through for sweat pants and her slippers. The first pieces of furniture she picked out were the old the record player from her grandfather on her mother's side and a stool. She ordered in stew and a pack of sodas, delivered from the grocer down the lane. Listening to muggle standards, Hermione picked through all of her furniture for the rest of the afternoon, arranging, stacking, shifting, sliding. By 3:30 p.m., Hermione had successfully decorated her flat.

The living room/dining room were a subdued, warm coupling. The amber colored sofa faced the row of windows on the wall, which was across from the front door. A black-lacquered coffee table sat in front of the sofa, with various books piled haphazardly on the carved surface. End tables of the same design, on both ends of the sofa, had mismatched, but similar, charming lamps; most likely antique. On the wall across from the door, two mismatched, low, lumpy old chairs sat side by side, with a standing lamp sitting between the two. The area rug she chose to cover the cool floors was checked with black, whites, and neutral tones. The dining room portion lay on the opposite end of the great room, to the left of the door, straight across from the kitchen. A pale maple, oblong table, with six matching chairs occupied a majority of the space. An small armoire in the corner, next to the stretch of windows had a gallery of all her memories at Hogwarts. Some magically enchanted, some muggle, the pictures spread over the top of the armoire. Several red and gold candles were scattered within the display. The plates in the kitchen had all be put away, as well as the utensils, pots, pans, et cetera.

Hermione stood looking at her handiwork, or wandwork, rather. Hands on hips, shoulders back and chest out, she was very proud of herself. She shuffled into the bathroom, and started a hot shower. Lupin was scheduled to arrive after 5:30, for dinner. They were meeting at the saloon below, conveniently for her. He had told her that it would be to discuss how her flat had turned out, how her family was, and all other arrangements including her new found employment. She was aware that she would be meeting her coworker, although she had heard little about him. She knew him but not well enough, according to Lupin. Although skeptical, Hermione was willing to try and forge a "new" relationship with this person she "knew".

Stepping out of her 30 minute shower, Hermione bolted to her room. She was shocked by how cold her flat was. Her bedroom had an old queen bed, fitted with chocolate sheets and a heavy cream, feather comforter. She threw her unruly, curly hair into a low bun at the base of her head, after dispersing copious amounts of mousse throughout her locks, in an attempt to control them. She dressed in jeans, a green blouse, and flats. At 4:30 p.m., with an hour to spare, Hermione placed two small logs in her fire place, opened the flue, and attempted to warm her abode. Lying back on her sofa, she watched the clock on the mantle, as it ticked slowly. Hermione began to think of how she had changed in a month. She had began a journal, which was somewhat therapeutic for her. But questions still nagged at her. _Who dragged me out of there? Why can't I remember now? There is something there. _She mulled over the fact that she had been found, lying unconscious with Lupin at the gate of Hogwarts. He had forgotten bits and pieces of the battle, and the last hour was one of the pieces missing. _He just doesn't remember. That's where the answer is, _she assured herself. Hermione had become more carefree. She had forgiven herself for not being able to help, and possibly save her magical family. Though she grieved briefly every morning for the families she knew that had died in attacks, she had come to piece with saying good bye. _This is just another step, another step to...sanity? No. Resolution? I'm just a little lonely._

She had been sitting there for a what seemed like ten minutes when the bell rang her awake. She had been sleeping a peaceful sleep, and then jarred awake by the shrill call of Lupin downstairs. Sliding on her coat, she grabbed her purse on the way out of the door.

"Hello, there. I hope you are as well as you were when I last spoke with you." Lupin greeted her with a small hug.

"I'm better actually," she responded as they exited her building and continued further down the street. "The money from my grandfather is what got me on my feet, material-wise. I can rent it without scrounging. And I have to tell you, I'm quite proud of my decorating skills. Mentally, emotionally, I'm alright. I'm taking smaller steps. How about yourself?"

"Oh, you know. It's hard, but it will get better. Alright, now that we're here at the...what the bloody hell? The Portkey Porter House? That's a mouthful, don't you think?" Hermione laughed lightly at this. " The person you are about to meet and work with for the next year or so, depending on how my operation works out, is someone you know. I don't want you to leave immediately. Keep an open mind, and listen to what he has to say. After that, you listen to me. And then you decide if you want to stay. And then, if you decide no, I'll hound you for a week. If still no, I'll hound you every other month. You know that I'm kidding when I say this. But my point is, things have changed and you know that. So, take it all into account and don't kill anyone." With his last remark, he ushered in a reluctant, yet curious Hermione to a back booth.

"Hello, err, Granger? Hermione. Sorry." Her stomach dropped at the site of her dinner mate. _Oh God._


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own none of these characters or the original plotline associated with JK Rowling's Harry Potter.

**Chapter 4**

For those few hours in her new apartment, Hermione's life had been putting itself back together like a puzzle. They were jigsaw pieces, but it was starting to make sense. And then Draco Malfoy had to come along, rip the pieces apart and scatter them all around. Anger churned in her brain and chest as she took a moment to look at her options: a) Throw the nearest mug at his head; b) choke him with her bare hands; or c) be calm, civil, and pick the pieces back up. Then throw a mug at his head. Before she said anything to the man before her, she pulled Lupin around to a different alcove.

"What possessed you to bring him here! In all due respect, how daft do you have to be to invite _him _to have dinner with us? I can't do it, not now. Not yet. I don't think I can handle it. I just can't." She blurted it all out while the blood rose to her face.

"I told you before to keep an open mind and try to listen to him. It might help to understand where he is coming from." Lupin paused, as if saying the next phrase could potentially drive Hermione away even more. "Haven't you, somewhere inside, wondered what he went through? Don't you ask that question sometimes? It happened, Hermione. As much as we like to put that grief somewhere real, he can't take the blame. It's not all his fault." Absorbing every one of his words, she realized that he was right. At times, her thoughts had drifted to when he made her life hell but then evolved to where he was at that moment. Had he changed? Did he regret anything? Did he remember anything? Did he have nightmares of imminent death in green smoke?

Taking a deep breath and steadying herself against a chair, she made her way back to the booth where Draco Malfoy was sitting and drumming his fingers and looking intently at a salt shaker. She stopped in front of the table, resting her hands on it.

He raised his head as if about to say something. "Hello. I apologize for my rude exit." Hermione's voice was steely. "I'll apologize again, and in advance for any more rude behavior. First off, I don't want you to think that I forgive you for anything and everything you did to me during our school years. Secondly, I don't want you to think that I believe any of that bull shit that people are saying about you being under Voldemort's control. Lastly, if you want any chance of me being civil towards you, dismiss your pompous, superior attitude now because I won't put up with it every day. If things are different now, you have one chance to prove it." He looked at her for a moment, and then stood up. She wasn't sure if he would walk out or just laugh in her face. Sure as her heart was about to explode with adrenaline, he looked her straight in the eye and extended his hand.

"I want to try and start this off right. I don't know what you want me to call you, so I will just go with Granger for now. You can call me Malfoy, Draco, or whatever suitable name comes to mind," Hermione raised an eyebrow at this. "I don't expect anything warm or fuzzy from you right now. I do hope that one day in the future, however far or close that may be, that we can be friends, acquaintances or anything else pleasant. I appreciate you coming here this evening. We can hopefully clear a lot of things up. To start this all off right, let's shake upon civilness." Confused, and let down because she had wanted so bad a reason to cause him bodily harm, Hermione stared at, and then shook Draco's hand.

A stunned, but none the less thrilled Lupin took his seat in between the two. It felt as if 20 minutes had gone by when the uncomfortable throat-clearing began. _Oh dear lord, where is the waitress? _Draco was still arranging and rearranging his silverware and various seasonings, occasionally sneaking glances at Hermione. His face was unreadable. She couldn't be sure if he was nervous, bored, or just plain pissed.Hermione, sitting across from Draco, began to fiddle nervously with the napkin she had placed in her lap. _There has to be a reason he is acting so...human. He's up to something. He still thinks he's better than me. Go on, Malfoy, call me a "Mudblood."_

"Hermione, are you with us, dear?" Lupin was looking at her quizzically. She snapped her head up, with eyes wide and unexpecting. The waitress was standing next to him. She smelled of yeast and stew.

"Oh my I am so sorry. I'll have the roast lamb chop and a water. That's all thank you." Embarrassed, she handed back the menu an sunk into her seat. The men ordered there own dinners and resumed there contemplative positions. Weren't they there for a reason? Why isn' Lupin saying something? It was his meeting, after all. His usual efficient ways seemed to be stifled by the tension.

"What are you thinking right now, Malfoy?" Hermione suddenly asked.

He paused before his winter eyes drifted up to her from his salad fork. "I was thinking that there is a more symmetrical horizon if the order goes knife, dinner fork, salt shaker, red pepper shaker, sugar dispenser, Parmesan cheese shaker, pepper shaker, spoon, salad fork.. The thing that throws it all off is the knife. It's flatter than everything else, and it doesn't know why. No rise whatsoever, completely flat." Hermione just stared at him for a moment. _Jackass._ She didn't even know why she came in the first place. Frustration bubbled in her chest, trying to push its way out.

"Ok. Pointless. Lupin, I'm sorry but I have to go. Tonight's not a good night. Maybe later when Malfoy here has reached a maturity level higher than my three year old cousin." She pushed out her chair and grabbed her coat. Just as she was putting her left arm in, Draco stood up.

"Wait. Granger, just hold on one second. That is what was going through my head at that moment. I promise. Just sit down and ask what you want to ask. Let's not waste any more of Lupin's time, yeah?"

"Only if you don't." Nodding in agreement, Malfoy pulled out her chair for her. Sitting down slowly, and she waited for him to return to his seat. "Why are you being kind? If that's blunt and a bit, rough, it's because for 7 years of my life, you were hell."

"What reason do you want? Long. Short. Immediate. Drawn out. I could go for hours or just give you a shortened version and leave the rest to be uncovered later." Was he ready to bare it all?

"Let's go for the shortened version. I don't know how long I can stand your drawling"

"1) I don't drawl. 2) I thought we were trying to be civil. 3) Why am I being kind? The reason for this is because I now fail to see the reason to be unkind to you. Not that I saw a reason before to treat you badly, it's just that... There's more to life...in general and I see that now. It took a lot for me to see that. What I just said doesn't explain all the harm I did that year–the destruction I caused. But you have to understand the way I was raised. You'd met my father. Imagine being brought up, seeing and hearing him everyday for your childhood. It was all that I had to draw from. Lucius taught me that he was the man I had to grow up to be. I had to be taught again that he was not the man I'm supposed to be. So I am apologizing and asking for your forgiveness of how I was to you in Hogwarts. You didn't deserve anything I said or did to you. I don't know if you are satisfied with that for now. But I'm not sure that you want to hear why I did those...horrible acts. I also have a feeling that the discussion we will have about it won't be quiet and quaint and civilized in the least. So let's leave that for a different time and place, shall we?" She could feel his sincerity to the very last syllable. But at the same time, Hermione felt like he had cut her off and she resented him for it. Was he trying to get away with it? Did he not complete his alibi yet? Should she give him a chance?

"I... accept your apology for now. Thank you. And I do agree on waiting for another time to...discuss the extent of your situation." He was still looking straight into her eyes, as if he was waiting for the ball to fly back to his court. That unbearable confidence factor was still there, she could see. Not yet though, she thought. She remained quiet until the food came. Draco was waiting for her another snappy comment, or another interrogative question, but the only words that made it out of her mouth for the rest of the evening was small talk and her goodbyes. She shook their hands and walked confidently out of the saloon.

As soon as she was on the sidewalk, she gulped down the air to soothe the fire in her chest. All that she had held back in there was almost too much to handle. The sudden shock of him turning up in her life and then his complete change of character was like the shock of lightening, and then the chance of it striking again in the exact same spot. She didn't want to trust him, but he had sounded so earnest. The two questions Hermione had for herself were these: _Can I trust myself to stay strong, and keep my composure with him? Is he going to cause me to lose control over everything I've gained back?_


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't any of these characters. Nor do I own JK Rowling's original plotline.

**Chapter 5**

She could feel the cold being drawn from her as she stoked the fire in her flat. The short, brisk walk from the saloon was cleansing. After calming down for half an hour or so at home, _My home_, Hermione decided that she could enjoy the rest of the evening in solitude. When solitude started having similarities with boredom, she decided to put away more dishes and arrange her kitchen. At around 9:30, before closing the odd cupboards for good, there was a jarring knock on the door.

"Um, I'll be there in just one second." Hermione looked down at her disheveled appearance: brown, mutt-like fuzzy slippers, the same jeans, and a beige sweatshirt from her father. She quickly tied her hair up, missing quite a few strands. So much for a clean-up. "Sorry for the wait, how may I help you?" as she opened the door.

"I knew it wasn't too late for you to be asleep yet. Now's a good a time as any to talk, don't you agree?" _Why is he here? Now? At my home? Insufferable. _

"Hello, Malfoy. You might have called or come back, I don't know, when I invited you."

"Yes, but then it'd be hard to just jump back in. More awkward introductions, small talk. All of that." He was looking into her flat with curiosity. "Is that one of those muggle toosters– tahsters-toe-toasters? You look like a muggle, by the way. It suits you. Do you miss the muggle world?" Ignoring his last question, Hermione turned her head towards the newly arranged kitchen.

"Why don't you just come in since you are already here. It is a toaster. For bread. That's why it's called a toaster. As in the thing we eat at breakfast: Toast. Can I take your cloak? I'll just leave it here." She draped it over the back of the couch. "I don't have a cloak-rack, I'm afraid." She chuckled lightly at this.

"What's funny?"

"Ha, coat-rack, cloak-rack? No? Okay, nevermind."

"Alright." He paced around the great room for a moment, while she eyed him suspiciously and snapped her head away when he looked at her. "Are you nervous?"

She paused, mid-sweatshirt adjustment, and just stared at him. "Why would I have a reason to be nervous? If anything, I'm trying to avoid spitting at you with the anger and frustration I feel when I'm around you. I have no faith in you whatsoever, I've never seen you perform one good deed. Forgive me for acting high-strung."

"Alright, then. Let it out." He was sitting in one of her big chairs, elbows on knees, looking straight into her eyes. Draco's own eyes were gray, like a calm winter sea, and his own calmness matched that. He certainly was not worried about what Hermione had to say. Or was he secretly bracing himself for hearing what pain had been caused by his actions?

"...Let it out'? You want me to let it out?" Her eyes nearly bulged at his bold-faced proposal. "What do you want me to let out? That you helped kill my entire life? That I know you hated everything we ever had? But that didn't make it alright for you to kill innocent people. I'm waiting on you to take responsibility for those heartless, unforgivable crimes you committed. Who else, but you, would create such a load of bull shit like: 'I was under mind-control'? That's what that is, Malfoy. Bull shit. Your father, he did raise a man, didn't he? Well be a man, and tell the truth. You enjoyed it. You were jealous of the love we had in our lives, in our friends. But you never had that. You had Lucius, the Death Eater. So you enjoyed it, didn't you? Taking what you knew you could never have. Well that's below average. What you did is no better than what Voldemort, himself, did." She found herself gripping the back of the couch, ready to pounce over it and tackle him. Her knuckles were white and her neck was strained.

He wasn't looking at Hermione when he said this, only at his shoes. "Please, don't you ever insinuate that I enjoyed seeing what you went through because of me. Don't think that I wanted to contribute to the efforts that went into killing so many innocents. Don't compare me to that evil...thing they call Voldemort. Don't _ever_ compare me to him. Ever." He got up and stared out the window. "I was a wretched little boy, I'll give you that one. I thought I would own everything one day. But as I got older, I looked around and started noticing things. I noticed that fathers were kind to their sons. I noticed that complete strangers were civil with one another. I started noticing that something was off in my family; particularly with my father. And so I started to be...off...with him. I would refuse going 'out' with him to his 'meetings'. To put things simply, I would defy him whenever I had the chance because I didn't want to go as far as he did with his 'pure-blood' theories." Draco and Hermione chose to look in opposite directions. "One night, he came home from a meeting. It was before that Quidditch Tournament incident. That was when it started. He did something. He made me kneel in front of him, and he took out his wand and said this : Auscultae Dicus Protinae. It was like the Imperius curse, but it was more sustained. But most of all, it was a cage. Do you understand? I wanted to be let out, but he wouldn't listen. He had complete control over the way I acted or...or a task I had to perform. I always found myself saying things I shouldn't, going places I shouldn't, and doing things I most certainly shouldn't have. I was just an instrument, a tool for him to use. I lost my friends too, Hermione. I lost the people I grew up with, and the few people I trusted. I was screaming inside." They stood in silence. He spoke once more. "It wasn't me. If you want to compare someone to Voldemort, if you want someone to hang for taking away your life and your love and your will, it's my father. He did the same thing to me. He's in Hell if you're looking for him."

Draco grabbed his cloak and mad his way to the door. Hermione turned to look at him and say something. He beat her to it. "I've learned one thing since all of it happened," _'It'. What else could it be called. _"You can't go on living like there isn't anything to live _for. _There will always be a purpose for life. You wouldn't have wanted to be left in the Great Hall. As much as you fought, you wouldn't have wanted it." With that, he strode out the door.

Hermione contemplated and dwelled on everything he had said, in front of the fire for the rest of the night. _'...It was a cage. Do you understand? I wanted to be let out...' _Had she really made a mistake in accusing him of enjoying those dark days? _'I was screaming inside.' _Draco's freedom had been taken away from him and replaced with something he couldn't control. He had lost his mother and father, however horrible both may have been, and he lost the people he could relate too. It wasn't until late at night that she realized why she was in that flat at that very moment. _'You wouldn't have wanted to be left in the Great Hall. As much as you fought, you wouldn't have wanted it.'_ Draco had saved her. He had picked up her slack body, he had fought her will to die. But he didn't let her. He didn't let her die.


	6. Chapter 6

1Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. Nor do I own the original plot line created by JK Rowling.

**Chapter 6**

"Oh, what have I said? I am an idiot." Hermione scorned herself, after her epiphany of the evening. She remembered the pig-headed things that had escaped her mouth; '_I have no faith in you whatsoever, I have never seen you perform one good deed.' _She had belittled him, and then made herself look totally unthankful and oblivious in the process.

Hermione regretted letting him in to her home. As soon as he had strode in there, Draco broke the dam and the words just wouldn't stop. The frustration, anger and bitterness flowed in a continuous stream but had stopped abruptly when she realized that she had nothing more to say. She regretted not being able to say all that she wanted to. She regretted not being able to ask all the questions. But all the regrets in the world wouldn't bring him back there, she felt. She had waited to so long to finally say something to his face, anything at all. However, now that she had gotten her grievances toward him off her chest, a dark, thick cloud loomed over her aura. Feeling useless with herself, Hermione made her way down to the saloon below at 12:27 a.m., praying it would be open. As she neared the doors, a warm comforting glow beckoned her in the doors.

"I'd like one butterbeer, warmed up a bit, if that's alright." She ordered as she settled on to one of the padded stools, although the padding made little difference in the minuscule comfort level.

"Of course, love. Are you new, dear? Can't say that I've seen you in here at all before. It is getting a little late," The plump woman waggled around behind the counter, trying to organize a bit of clutter that the past evening had left behind. "A young, pretty lady like yourself doesn't need to be down here."

"I think we both know that there are ways to rectify anything that could go wrong."

"Just making sure, love. I've found a few muggles stumbling along the streets at times, wondering where the bloody hell they are." She laughed heartily at her memory, set Hermione's steaming butterbeer on the wooden bar and jumped right into a conversation with comfortable looking patrons a couple feet away.

Hermione surveyed the saloon and took in the pairs of people huddled over mugs and cups, deep in conference, while surrounded by a majority of empty tables. There cheeks were warm with the happiness of wine, or other various spirits, and smiles visited their faces often. She felt a small pang of emptiness as she remembered the times in Hogsmeade with Ron and Harry. As the all-too-familiar laughter filled her memory once more, Hermione's breath faltered and she realized that her scheming days had left with her two best friends. _No, I'm past this. I miss them, dearly, but they're gone and I have to keep living. I have to. _Attempting to distract her heart from the missed memory, her eyes moved to the back booths where she had sat just hours ago with Lupin and Draco.

And there it was, and the lightening-blond hair and the striking ocean gray eyes. He sat with his feet up in the booth, himself against the wall. He was holding a book and nursing a mug that was steaming, just like hers. His face held an expression of deep concentration, with is forehead tangled only slightly. Hermione debated with herself whether or not she should go up to him. She knew she should, for the most part, just not how. "Hello, Draco." _No_. "Hello, Malfoy." _Too...impersonal_. "Hi, again. Please forgive my idiocy." _Let's not be desperate, Hermione. _Instead of writing the evening's dialogue herself, she decided to let it unfold after she approached.

"Hi, again. What are you doing here so late?" _Oh, that was flawless. Gloss right over what needs to be said, and sound like he doesn't belong here._ Draco looked up, blank expression and eyes to match; although they seemed to be asking her a million questions at once. "That wasn't the best question. It's just late and I didn't expect to see you here. It must be far from where you live now, I assume. I thought you'd go home, as well. But since you are here, I have some things I need to say."

"More long, over extended dialogue?" His voice was flat, but not angry. He had put down his book, a page dog-eared to mark his place.

"It gets the job done thoroughly, don't you think?"

"Ever heard of 'too much information'?"

"I have, thank you. However, you are guilty of it as well."

"I hardly think that what I said earlier can be categorized as 'too much'. I was defending myself." Hermione didn't answer him immediately, as guilt descended upon her once more.

"You're right." Another pause, accompanied by a raise of the eyebrows from Draco, as Hermione lowered her eyes.

"Did you just admit defeat? Hermione Granger, admit defeat? Incorrectness?" He mused, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Please don't treat this as trivial bickering." Her face remained serious.

He matched her expression with his own. "What is it, then?"

Since he put it frankly, she felt no need to sugar coat it with groveling and sweetness. "I shouldn't have berated you, I shouldn't have compared you to that vile man, and I shouldn't have accused you of enjoying everything we went through. I hope you can accept my apology."

Once again, Draco's face was unreadable; a skill he had seemed to master in his years. "I think I have to accept it, otherwise, how would we work together for a year?" A smirk then just played in his eyes. They had both reached acceptance of each other, for the first time ever. Hermione readjusted her mug to her other hand as Draco removed his feet from their elevated position. They each cleared their throats as they had been accustomed to doing in the awkward silences. "Do you want to sit down and finish your drink?" He gestured to the open seat across from him. His eyes rested on her face expectantly.

"Yes, thank you very much. So, are you up for working with Lupin?"

"I don't see any harm in it."

"Did you get to know him at all during school?"

"His presence escaped my awareness, I guess you could say."

"Hmm." She nodded her head at his small joke. "Why are you here, by the way? Your flat can't be any where near here."

"Oh yes, it's right across the street." Silence.

"We're neighbors?" Hermione adjusted to the thought for a moment. "Oh."

"Yes, Oh."

"No, I didn't mean that, it's just..."

"What?"

"I have no curtains, yet."

"Your point?"

"Just, don't look out your window during the evening for the next day or so? If you please?" Hermione's face was flushed with embarrassment. He couldn't have seen in, could he? Her bedroom faced the street. The potential situations were endless.

"Are you accusing me of being a peeping-tom? I like to think that I'm not a pervert, Granger."

"I just...I'm sorry. No. Just don't look over there."

"No worries. Why don't you just put up a charm or something?"

"Well I was thinking I'd go shopping tomorrow. Explore the street a bit. See what it has in store."

"Don't let the vendors rob you. They are hungry for money. They wanted to sell me a cauldron for 14 galleons. It made me sick."

"Funny, I'd never thought of you as frugal. I'm just looking for cloth, that's all."

"You women don't 'just look'. I had a mother, you know. You shop for hours, buy the most expensive because it's 'the best'. And when you get home, it doesn't fit. And then you have to modify it, or shape shift it. It's a waste of energy."

"Poor you. What would go better with cream and chocolate? A plaid of neutral tones, stripes, or just one solid color? I can't decide, and I haven't had anyone to ask about it yet today, so you have been blessed with the task of second opinion." Draco was reading his book again.

"I was talking." She had put her finger in his book.

"I know."

"You weren't listening."

"I know."

"I'm going."

"Good night." Draco mumbled to her through a yawn. Hermione grumbled and left a tip for the barmaid from out of her pocket, and made her way out of the booth

"Granger?"

"Yes, Malfoy?" He held her purse out towards the dining room where she had turned from. She shuffled back and reached for the purse. She waited for him to look up before she took it from his hand. "Thank you, Malfoy."

"What for?" He knew she wasn't thanking him for reminding her about her purse. Her eyes were trained on him, intent on connecting with him in some way. "And here I was thinking no good deed goes unpunished." Hermione winced.

"Just...Thank you." With that, she left. He had nodded a silent "You're Welcome". The two of them had exchanged understanding of each other in an eight hour period.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I own none of these characters or the original plot line, JK Rowling does.

**Chapter 7**

Draco ducked as a crumpled newspaper flew at his head. When he straightened himself back up, he saw Hermione standing in front of the towering bookcases, poised with hands on hips. "That was just a bit unnecessary, don't you think?" He asked her as he picked up the paper from the ground and smoothed it out again.

"Forgive me. I thought maybe something thrown at your head might jog your memory a bit. We're supposed to write everything down for now, remember? We can't use the pensieve until Lupin returns from Romania. How do you expect to keep your head on straight when you are so disorganized?" She took a deep breath as she plopped down into a seat.

"First off, if you want to jog my memory use something heavier. The most you'll do with this," he gestured to the tattered media, "is give me a small paper cut. Secondly, I didn't say that I've forgotten completely, I just need a moment or two to draw it up." He gingerly opened up a book titled Nocturnal Whirling Slugs, only to have his fingers coated in a thick, green slime. As he wiped his fingers on the former weapon of Hermione Granger, he mumbled something about where the books came from. "It'll turn out fine, don't worry. The case will be closed soon. Mr. Aylwin's name will be cleared and he will leave a decent legacy behind him in good time."

"We told Mrs. Aylwin that we'd have the case solved within two weeks. That was on December 3rd. It's two days until Christmas Eve. That's 19 days. Nearly three weeks. Pardon me if I feel high-strung. I just want it all to run smoothly. And for our third case, things should be running smoothly. So, you, acting as if we have all the time in the world pisses me off. We need to be on task." She pushed out her chair, stood up and marched out of the back room and into the small, main entrance area.

She looked through the warped glass onto Diagon Alley, the main drag. Cloaked wizards and witches whizzed by the windows as it began to snow. Hermione realized that she and Draco had been working with Lupin for nearly two months, since the end of October. At first, she had been a little wary of how they would work together but discovered that they balanced each other. Draco's headstrong, threatening, interrogative force was checked by Hermione's factual, welcoming persona. Lupin was hardly ever present; he was usually traveling the country or visiting exotic locations to "get the facts, of course." She couldn't complain about anything, except Draco's annoying habits but they were minimal. And now, winter was rolling in with the snow and the holiday season. Hermione felt that things were falling into place again; even with Draco as the extra piece.

"I'm sorry." Hermione jumped as she turned to see Draco leaning casually against the door frame.

"Me too. I know not everything is supposed to goes as planned. I just feel bad for Mrs. Aylwin; since the holidays are coming up and all." Draco looked down. "I'd be happy to work through them, considering I'm not exactly going home for them this year. But still, I don't think waiting for answers is going to make her family's Christmas any better."

"Why aren't you going home? No muggle holiday? What about eggnog or whatever it's called?"

"My parents are going to Spain. They've been waiting to go for their whole married life, and it just so happened that they're chance fell on Christmas week. They can't take me with them for some reason– forget about Christmas and your daughter; just go eat some paella." She drummed her finger nails vigorously on the front counter as she pursed her lips.

"And you're not bitter at all." He smirked and put his hands in his pockets. "Well I guess that makes two of us."

"You're here, in the middle of Wizarding London, for the holidays?" He nodded curtly in response, "That's convenient."

"So what's for dinner?"

"It's only 2 p.m. and you're thinking about dinner already? And I'm not ordering in again.."

"No I mean for Christmas. We might as well get together since we're alone." He seemed almost hopeful when Hermione spoke next.

"We're not alone if we're together." Hermione held eye contact with him, but not knowing why. She opened her mouth to say something as Lupin strode through the door, letting a cold burst of wind and snow flakes float in with him. When she looked back at where Draco was, he had already sat down at the table in the back room. Lupin was grinning ear to ear.

"Both of you. Go home. Go catch a train. Mount your broomsticks. Floo powder is on the mantel if you need it."

Hermione looked at him quizzically before easing in; he was in such a good mood. "Sorry, but we still have a lot of work to do. We know that Mr. Aylwin wasn't poisoned, but we still can't prove that it wasn't suicide."

"I already did. His wife killed him. He was sitting on a rather large pile of galleons and she couldn't wait to get her hands on it. Not to mention she would have complete control of his broom-making business. Funny, don't you think? The things you do for power." Draco meandered in towards the front of their offices. He sat down next to Hermione at the counter. "Anyways, she apparently had spent 3 years creating a potion to kill him. It played on his body's weaknesses, which explains the broken neck in the bathtub. You're both free to go. Enjoy your holidays. I will be in Germany if you feel like owling me. Oh and here are your...holiday bonuses." He presented each of them with hefty velvet bags of money.

"I know we don't celebrate thanksgiving here, but, I am so very thankful for all the opportunities you have given me, these past two months, Remus. I mean it. I might still be at home with mum and dad, having my mum drive me into the city every day. But you gave me the chance to grow up, I guess. Thank you." Hermione suddenly spewed all of this out as she counted out her money and gave a genuine, grateful smile to Lupin.

"Your welcome. I feel like you are the last links I have to the younger generation, so I might as well do what I can while I can." He patted Hermione's shoulder. "But I have one question: What is Thanksgiving? Is it Muggle? Or American? Or both?"

Hermione laughed out loud, "It's both. They eat turkey to celebrate the relations between the natives and the puritans when the colonies were created. Although it's a bit of crock." She was putting on her coat and turned around to see Lupin and Draco staring at her as if she were an actual muggle standing before them. "Alright, never mind. I'm going. Thanks again, Remus. Good afternoon, Malfoy."

"Um, wait for me, Granger." Draco hurried to the coatrack by the door and grabbed his coat. "I need to pick out something to send to my cousin in Paris. She's a girl and you're a girl so you have to help."

"I'm a lady, thank you." She put her head down to avoid the biting-cold wind that the nipped at her nose. They made their ways towards Vane Lane– home.

"Same thing. She's 14 and likes to read, and when I say read I mean everything. Suggestions would be helpful. I don't know if I should send her something small or maybe a set or about girls or advice or spell books or..." He was rambling and picking up his pace.

"No advice books. Nothing about boys because if she's anything like me when I was her age, they aren't even in the picture yet. Although sets are always good. It could be referential if she likes to read for information. But if she likes to read for novelty, then get some good fiction."

"What do you want? I mean, what set would you recommend? She reads very maturely. Advanced, I mean." Hermione had stopped in front of a window and chattered as she put her hand up to the window. "What? It's a dingy old shop, let's go." She opened to door and disappeared in. Draco followed in after her. She was poised in front of a boxed set of brown and gold books, fingering the imprinted title as she stared in awe.

"_The Witch of the West: An Autobiography._ Oh my god, I didn't know they sold this still. And it's first edition!" She spoke just above a whisper as if she didn't want to disturb the books' being. "I read excerpts from these books in a magazine. I cannot believe they're here. So close to home."

"Are they good?"

"Good? They're amazing. She is amazing. The woman in this book is just...I wish I could meet her." Just then, Hermione sighed and straightened up. "These. Get these for her. She'll love them." Draco watched her peruse among the stacks of books in the shop. He picked up the price tag and nearly choked on his tongue when he read the price.

"Hermione? Anything else I could get for her? I have a feeling those aren't up her alley."

"Alright, Mr. Cheapskate. But I'm telling you, she would be thrilled to have those in her possession. Any avid reader looks at that like you look at a prized broom."

"Whatever. Just something else. If I'm going to spend that much money on someone, I better get something in return. And not a 'pretty picture.'"

"Please do spare me the details of what you want in return," Hermione held up her hand. "I'm sure it wouldn't be a pretty picture."

"Depends on who is in the picture." He put his hand on hers and lowered it from his face, and then continued on to some other books. Hermione stayed behind.

"I'm feeling tired. I'm going to head home. Basically, anything that has to do with triumphant women, with a little adventure thrown in there, can really work as a great book for your cousin. I'm going to a play on Christmas Eve in Muggle London at 7 p.m. Do you want to come?"

"What is it about?"

"It's the Christmas Pageant. Have you heard of one?"

"No."

"Well you should come. It's sweet. Hopeful."

"I'll be at your flat at 6."

"Alright. I'll see you then." Hermione exited the shop with his face in her head. Draco was just holding a book, head tilted to the left, and a wistful smile on his face. He looked like he hadn't had a real Christmas to look forward to in a while. She decided to stop in another book store down the street, with a more commercial feel to it. She found a journal with the a title saying _The Independent-Thinking Wizard's Journal._ The black-leather bound book had a silver brain on the front with a green and gold orb circling it continuously and randomly sending out sparks to the holder. She purchased it and as soon as she got home, she wrote an inscription on the front inside cover.

As soon as Hermione had passed the shop's windows, Draco sped back to the set she had recently torn herself away from. He brought it up to the clerk's desk and purchased it with no hesitation. Satisfaction and excitement lay upon his face simultaneously as he headed back to his flat to wrap his gift to the lady in his life–other than his "cousin" from Paris.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or the original plot line. J.K. Rowling does.

Chapter 8

The last time Draco had gone to any theatre was when he was 6 years old. His father had brought Draco and his mother to see a production of "The Cup of Glory". He remembered walking in, holding onto his mother's hand and looking at the candles that floated mystically above the red velvet seats. He saw the seats melting into one for, especially, close couples. He also remembered the way his father was so kind to his mother; the way he guided her through the aisles while occasionally pushing Draco along to their seats. The short years before entering Hogwarts, the childhood with his family was calm and almost normal—before his conditioning as a proud, fearless, superior Malfoy. But still, the tiny dress robes his mother had picked out for him were engrained in his mind: Gray with silver and blue embroidery on the collar. Now, he was dressing himself in a reserved black robe, hair slicked back as usual. He was unsure of what a muggle play was like. Of course they wore dress robes. What kind of animals would they be if they didn't? He was nervous though, partly because having to control his habits. But mostly, Draco was nervous because he was entering Hermione's world.

Meanwhile, Hermione was dressing her self in a brown lace skirt, bronze heels, and long-sleeved white t-shirt. Her baubles lay delicately around her neck as she pinned her hair out of her face, with the rest of it hanging down. She grabbed the tickets her aunt had sent her weeks before and threw on her jacket as she stepped down the stairs. With two steps to go, her anxiousness got the best of her as she stumbled down the two and out of the door to the street. Catching herself on a lamppost, she caught sight of Draco looking at her quizzically.

"Don't move a muscle; I don't want you to hurt yourself trying to help me."

"The lamppost did a great job for me. Besides, I didn't tell you to wear those shoes." He wasn't looking at her shoes though. His eyes made their way up from her legs, so long, to her neck, so delicate, and to her eyes that shone warmly by the gaslight. "You look nice. But why do I feel overdressed?"

"Because you are."

"I thought we were going to the theatre."

"It's not a ball." She chuckled. "Do you have any slacks? Black slacks, black shirt, you would look very nice." He took out his wand and her words became his outfit as the robes transformed. "Wonderful. Let's be off then. There's a train going in 20 minutes."

Draco and Hermione ate dinner on the train, joking about their bosses quirky habits, telling stories of the odd characters they dealt with.

"I'm not kidding. You could have braided the hairs together. She's a witch, why couldn't she remove the damn wart?" Hermione was giggling uncontrollably. "If I had actually listened to her, we would have closed that case a week early but all I was doing was willing that monstrosity to fall off. But it would have landed in my tea, so I decided against it."

"Stop it. My cheeks hurt from laughing too much." She pressed her palms to her face as a few more laughs bubbled up from inside until it subsided completely. "What made you want to work for him?"

"We talked about this, I think."

"No, I asked you if you were up to working for him."

"I feel like I should." He was sweeping crumbs off of their table. The train chugged along, the rhythmic pumping was reassuring and calming. "Does it make sense to say that I feel like I need to make up something to him? Or maybe our society in general?" Hermione just stared at him for a moment. He couldn't read if she was annoyed or if she saw through him, or if she was disinterested.

"You amaze me, somehow, almost everyday. Well, occasionally, but when you do it's a monumental event." She tilted her head towards him, almost conspiratorially. "I think you need to do this for yourself. And that's wonderful. Besides, you're amazing at what you do—you're an asset. I think we've all fallen into a groove and it's good. It's good we work together well and that we're friends now." Draco didn't let his face fall when she said "friends". He wanted more than friends. But she didn't; Hermione was happy and thought it was "good" they were friends. "I like the _you_ that you are now. Are you happy?" Then, his heart soared.

"Colors are brighter. And I don't feel tired. I felt so tired before all of this. Before I began to remake a life for myself. I have people that I can rely on."

"You're in touch with some of your family."

"No. I'm talking about you." She just smiled at him. Her cheeks were warm because of the bottle of wine he ordered for her; and maybe because he made her feel special. "Looks as though we are in London."

She turned to the window and she saw people milling about the station. After paying the dinner bill, Draco and Hermione made their way through the station, and into the muggle London. As they exited King's Cross, he offered her his arm. She took it gratefully as they hailed a taxi.

"What are you doing? Why are we getting in a strange man's car?"

"It's like the Knight Bus except just one...this is a car by the way…car. A few passengers get in the back and pay the driver for transportation. Just get in." He climbed in skeptically.

Their whole ride through London was occupied by Hermione explaining the lights in the sky that moved, the cars, the bikes, the strange things that everyone was talking into. "Cell phones. Mobile Telephones. Telephones being the objects that muggles use to communicate with each other when they are separated. Mobile being they can be moved from any stationary position."

"Why do you muggles have to do everything so complicatedly?"

"Oh, look at that; we're here." They climbed out as Hermione paid the cabbie. When she turned around, she noticed that the theater they were at was quite empty, almost deserted. "Is it me, or are the lights off?"

"Do you have the tickets?"

"Yeah, hold on." She searched her purse and pulled out the tickets. "Oh. Uh oh. What are you doing yesterday?" She looked up at him innocently, with a hint of guilt behind the puppy dog eyes.

"What?"

"The tickets were for yesterday night. They are off tonight. Oops." Hermione stared at the tickets for a moment more before looking up at her escort apologetically. "I'm giving you my puppy-dog face right now. You can't be too mad."

He stared down at her eyes, brown pools of guilt, and he couldn't help but break a smile. "You're scatteredness works for you, I guess."

"It was a mistake." She pouted playfully, and then frowned at his sudden change in composure.

"What else could we do, since we're out here already?" He put his hands in his pockets, and looked away. He was too afraid that she would see his vulnerability. He didn't want to give in so easily.

"Don't sulk, you look smug and immature."

"Alright, I'll remember that when I can't keep dates straight."

"You know, I'm kind of tired. And I have a headache, so why don't we just head back." She turned and started walking down the street. When he didn't follow, she turned back to him with her arms crossed. "Fine, if you want to stay, there are return tickets that I reserved under my name. But I'm off. Good night, Draco." With that, she was off again.

Hermione weaved her way through the charmed, hidden streets of magical London. She arrived at a shop that allowed the use of its fireplace for patrons, and went on her way back to her apartment. However, when she stepped into her living room she didn't feel like going to bed. She felt she had spent time primping herself, and that it was going to go to waste. Instead, Hermione journeyed out onto the street below to explore, if any, the nightlife of Vane Lane. It was littered with small shops—some clothing, books, food, even enchanted jewelers—but strangely devoid of any immediate entertainment. The only sign of life was the presence of locals doing a little shopping, as well as caroling. Disappointed, Hermione made her way back.

As she rounded a bend in the road, she started noticing that the street had gotten darker since she set out. The street lights had died down, and less locals roamed the sidewalks for last minute holiday shopping. She pulled her coat tighter around her when she felt an unfamiliar sense of susceptibility. She wasn't used to not having a strong friend to hold onto when she was scared. She wasn't used to being without…brothers. That's when the footsteps behind her entered into her mind, and she realized she wasn't alone.

"…not one of our kind, that's for sure. What kind of witch dresses like that? Hey, pretty lady, are you sure you're supposed to be here? Can you tell me who you are, or can I look myself?" He began calling after her. A quick glance in a window she was passing gave her a headcount of three young men, though not of large stature, that were following her.

"Come on, hike up your skirt a little more, baby." A second guy called after her. The three of them began sniggering as she picked up her pace and began to move her feet faster than walking. _Two more blocks and around the corner, that's all and I'm home. Oh, please don't let me be a statistic. _She had left her wand in her larger work bag because she hadn't left her home since her last day of work. She was virtually defenseless.

"Alright, then. I guess I'll just have to hike it for you." The leader of the pack grabbed at her skirt, as she whirled around to slap him in the face. Instead, he took her arm in strong grip and she stumbled to stop, facing him. She let out small scream that dwindled into a whimper as his grip strengthened. "You have the sweetest cheeks, from the little peek I got. They looked soft as well. Wouldn't mind havin' a feel…" His free hand moved from the grip on her hip towards her rear when she kneed him in his groin. Hermione broke into a run around the corner as the guys began to catch up with her. When she rounded the corner onto her familiar street, she slammed hard into a man in black.

Draco looked down into the eyes of the person that had interrupted his stride. He had heard a scream a moment ago and was curious to see the commotion. The white, alarmed face of Hermione stared up at him as she gripped his upper arms for support.

"Oh, thank God." Her voice was shaking and her eyes were wide.

"What in Merlin's name—" he broke off when the small gang rounded the corner after her.

"Oh, so our little sweetums found another John for the night. Fine, two-bit whore." The leader began to stalk off with his minions when Draco pulled out his wand and muttered an unidentifiable spell. The "leader" fell stiff on the ground. "I'll let him go when he learns to respect a lady. If I ever find him doing any of that around here again, his ass is mine." With those last words, he escorted a shaken Hermione under his arm towards their flats. "Try not to go gallivanting about town when it's nearly 10:30 will you? Or at least bring your wand."

All Hermione could do was stare at her feet as she walked. She wanted to sleep in her warm bed for a week. She was embarrassed and in shock from what could have happened. When they appeared at there opposing flats, Draco steered her towards her door and then stopped her to face him.

"Are you going to be alright tonight?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, I just need to change and go to bed. Maybe take a hot bath. But, thank you. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been around that corner. I guess I'm used to finding myself in trouble…but I'm not as used to being without someone to rely on. And I really needed someone just then. And I'm sorry you had to hear them call me that but I really shouldn't have been out there and they kept trying to lift up my skirt and—and I just..."

"They were pigs and if they ever show their pockmarked faces around here again, I'll do something illegal. It wasn't your fault. But you're alright now. If you need anything, just throw a pebble or something at my window."

"Yeah. Thank you. Good night." She opened the door to the stairs and began to shut the door closed when Draco called after her.

"Hermione! Wait. I have something for you," He brought up a heavy package from his side. "Happy Christmas. Open it now, if you want. Unless you follow a different tradition in which case you can come over tomorrow for Christmas Breakfast at my flat." All the words came out in a rush and he bounced on his heels like a 7 year old boy. She smiled at him demurely as she deftly unfolded the brown paper from the gift. The gold leaf caught in the low lamplight outside her door.

Her breath caught. "You…I…The Witch…West. Oh my God, Draco. You should NOT have gotten me this. It's too expensive. I can't…I mean, I want…but you shouldn't have." Her mouth hung open in amazement as Draco lifted his hand to close it for her, and tilted her head up to him. He stared at her for a moment.

"You deserve the books since you helped me out this past month or so. I appreciate it." She continued to gape at him, in between watching her fingers trace the letters on the bindings. It was as if she needed to touch them to make them real. "You have the most priceless reactions. Did you know that?"

Hermione looked back up at him as if she were looking at her hero. She opened her mouth to say something but instead placed her lips softly onto Draco's. As she held the books to her chest in one hand, she let the other slip up his chest, to his neck, and under his chin. Stunned by her actions and how her soft, warm, delicate lips hugged his, Draco could only weave a finger in a stray curl on her shoulder. Both their hot breath mixed when they parted to find another niche to explore. As she pulled away, she let out a small breath of satisfaction and hugged him tightly.

"It's a very Happy Christmas. Thank you. What time should I come over, tomorrow morning?"

"Uh, well, I was thinking…let's see…9:30 a.m. sounds about right." While he tumbled over his words, she smiled to herself.

"9:30 a.m. it is. Good night." Her voice was light and content as she said her parting words. When she disappeared up the stairs, Draco let a familiar smirk play on his lips. This smirk wasn't cocky, no. Draco smiled because he couldn't believe how he had overcome what he had been.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters nor do I have anything to do with the original plot line. They belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 9

More snow had fallen over the course of Christmas Eve on Vane Lane. Hermione had watched thousands of snowflakes drift past her window in the light of the lamps below. Watching snowflakes was not the only thing she did that night, no. Hermione had also slept with her newest old book series tightly in her hands.

Icicles falling off of the roof ledge shook Hermione from her sleep, and she immediately began to fret what to wear to breakfast. However, before she could begin to fret she looked at the clock in her bedroom—9:03.

"Shit! Shit shit shit on a stick!" she spasmed herself out of bed and immediately dove to save her gift from falling the floor. "I need pants. And a shirt. And a shower. Of course you need a shower, Hermione, just because you're late doesn't mean you're completely daft." Twenty-six minutes later she burst out her door, flew down her steps and slid to a halt before trying to cross the street. _No plows in this part of town, I suppose. _Daintily, she slid one foot into the snow and winced as the cold fluff made its way up her pant leg.

Upstairs and across the way, Draco looked out his window as Hermione slowly, painfully, made her way to his apartment. He noticed with every step, Hermione's feet became wetter and her freshly-showered hair began to form its own ice crystals. _Another log or three into the fire, then. _Draco stoked the fire when his door bell chimed. He stood up to fast from his crouch in front of the fire so that his head slammed into the mantel.

"Bugger all!" he screamed as Hermione let herself into Draco's flat.

"Oh, sorry, I'll go then," she said quietly with a surprised look on her face.

"No. My head—the mantel—I was just...come in, please." She looked at him semi-sympathetically as she began dumping snow out of her boots.

"Forgive my appearance but I'm absolutely soaked from the snow and I do believe my hair is frozen." She sighed. "I ran a little late this morning because I was up late...reading." Hermione met Draco's eyes. He took in her appearance at his door: hair disheveled and stiff in place, the buttons on her green blouse were done up wrong, and her pants were soaked up to the knee.

"Maybe you'd like to get out of those, then? I mean, I have pajamas that maybe you'd like to change into considering wet clothes can make anyone sick as dog. I didn't mean to sound like I wasn't a gentleman, honestly." Draco's voice was a little strained at the thought of Hermione without any clothes on. He scuttled into his bedroom with a pained look on his face.

"I really appreciate this, thank you." She took the clothing from him—blue and green plaid flannel. She loved the classic things about Draco that kept her changing her perception of him. "You didn't make me uncomfortable at all, so don't worry." Hermione said before closing the door to the bathroom. _Does she mean...oh? Wait. No. She's not. _

As she slipped her slender legs out of her wet trousers, a stinging warmth wrapped around them. She gasped a tiny gasp at the shocking sensation. She discarded her shirt a little more quickly than her pants and immersed herself into the comforting flannel that was oddly familiar to her. Hermione pushed the faceless memories back into her mind as she used the clip in her purse to get her rapidly drying hair out of her face. She exited the bathroom and joined Draco in his tiny kitchen. He was pointing his wand at a skillet on the stove. Hermione could smell something delicious , but she was more impressed with who was doing the cooking.

"I am famished. What's for breakfast?" She sank a black chair and stared at Draco expectantly. He turned around to look at her: stray hairs falling across her forehead and brushing up against her flushed cheeks, and fresh eyes sparkling back at him.

"Frittata made with bacon, peppers, and Romano cheese. I know it's supposed to be cooked in the oven but I didn't want to wait. Which I just realized—the thought of just drying your clothes on the spot didn't occur to either of us. Maybe this Christmas spirit is getting to me."

"Oh, they're so comfortable...would you like them back?" She moved from her seat to the glass pane cupboards and started getting plates and cups for the two of them. Draco turned to look at her reaching up on her tip-toes. As her shirt moved up, skin peaked out just above the waist of the pants and made Draco wonder.

"Uh, erm, no. You look good in them. I mean you look comfortable, like your more relaxed." His brow furrowed at his poor choice of words. He began to plate their breakfast and produced some pumpkin juice for the two of them as they sat down.

"Well I am, thank you." Hermione smiled to herself the same way she had last night and hid it behind a bite of eggs.

An hour or two later, Draco and Hermione were sitting on his couch talking about the past two months. Draco watched as she went on about how she just wanted to do the job right; her face glowed with determination. His admiration grew for her, but at the same time he wished that she would take a break. Even on holiday, in flannel pajamas, sitting in front of a fire Hermione was wound up. Five minutes ago, she was relaxed.

"...And I've always been a firm believer that you have to work hard to deserve the rewards you receive. That means that you'll never-" in the middle of her sentence, her lips were stopped by Draco's. He pulled her deeper into this kiss by wrapping a hand delicately around the back of her neck. He parted away from her and grazed a thumb across her lips.

"Where's my Christmas gift?" he asked, completely ignoring what just happened. Hermione watched him for a millisecond in disbelief—_did he really just do that?_

"Yes. It's in my purse, hold on." She didn't miss a beat. She got up from the couch and recovered her purse from the coat rack by the door. Handing Draco the wrapped present, she watched him impatiently. "Open it."

"Oh? Is that what I have to do?" sarcasm permeated off of his words.

"Just do it and shut up."

"Oh my, the Christmas spirit has come and gone," Draco joked as he carefully unstuck the tape on the wrapping paper, and slipped the small book out. He looked at the cover, amused by the sparks, and opened the book to the blank pages. "I've never had a journal before."

"Why not? It's the only way I can sort through my thoughts without talking to myself and then feeling even crazier." Hermione's head tilted to the side as she tried to read whether or not he liked it.

"Haven't you ever heard of a pensieve?"

"I'm always afraid someone will look at it. But if you want to exchange it, that's fine. I understand."

"No, no. I don't suppose it could hurt to try this. Christmas is about giving, and I think that the best gifts are ones that are a completely new experience to the receiver. Thank you very much, Hermione. Happy Christmas." He put his hand on hers, which was resting on the cushion in between them.

"You're welcome. This is the happiest Christmas since...some years...ago," Hermione sighed between her words. She absently picked at a piece of lint on the pajama pants, then focused on the plaid pattern. A memory flashed in her mind, and her senses picking up as if she was experiencing it in the present:

_Christmas 2004, at the Burrow. _

_After spilling cider on her own pajamas, Hermione followed Ron up to his room. She could smell the apple and spice and felt the liquid begin to dry and stick to her thighs._

"_I'm a klutz. I always have been," she giggled as he handed her a ratty pair of pants. Blue and green plaid flannel. "This is the most wonderful Christmas, Ron. I'm glad I've gotten to spend it with you." She began to change in front of him; it was something she had grown comfortable doing. _

"_Maybe we could spend every other Christmas together, for the rest of our lives." The words came out of his mouth as if of their own volition. He looked as shocked as Hermione, but she could tell he meant it and wanted it with all his heart. She stood straight up and moved closer to him. _

"_Yeah?" her voice barely pushed out._

"_Yes." He laughed nervously and looked down._

"_Okay." She began to laugh along with him—a laughter that sprang from surprise, realization, and love. "Every Christmas, from now on," Hermione said as the candlelight from his bedstand glowed on her face. She held his hands in hers._

"_Every day, from now on." Ron wrapped his arms around his love, and Hermione nestled her face in the crook of his neck. "Everyday for the rest of our lives."_

Guilt was all around her and hung heavy in her lungs and heart. Her stomach was turning at the remembrance of what she had lost. The sorrow grew as she thought of the two kisses she had shared with this man in front of her now. Hermione had treated the memories of the love of her life as though he never existed...as though it didn't mean a thing to her now. How had she forgotten?

"I have to go to the bathroom."She sprang from the couch once more and flew to the bathroom. _What am I thinking? How on earth can this be anywhere near what I shared with Ron? _She began to lose her breath as her heart beat faster and faster with despair.

She turned on the sink and splashed the cold water on her face repeatedly until the hot tears hiding behind her lids were numbed away. After drying her face, she stripped herself of the pajamas in a fervor. Once she was back in her own, familiar, safe clothing, Hermione let her guard down a little.She looked around Draco's small bathroom and noted the various toiletries on the shelves above the sink. _Acciore Hair Crème for men, Acciore shampoo and conditioner, Acciore aquanet hair spray... Well he's still the materialistic, metro sexual he was at Hogwarts, _thought Hermione. She hadn't noticed this before. Collecting herself one more time, she made her way out of the bathroom and tried to appear as though nothing had happened. She sat on the couch once more, but more tense than earlier.

"So, you're an Acciore man?" she inquired as she tried to ruffle his hair out of place. When it didn't move, she stared at him disbelievingly.

"Appearance is important. If you don't look in control of yourself, how will people expect you to be in control of other things?" Draco's nose was raised a little higher than before.

"There are four products in your bathroom that would cause the majority of women to believe that you care alarmingly too much about your appearance, or that you are gay. I hope it's not the latter of the two. What are you hiding underneath all that product?"

"Don't worry, Granger, I'm not as cursed as you in the follicular aspect. And there are plenty of women out there who would vouch for my heterosexuality." He was getting defensive. "What just happened?"

"Please don't play that 'I was born into perfection, therefore I am' card. It got old when we were still at Hogwarts, and it's not going to make a comeback. Here I was thinking you were frugal because you wouldn't spend so much on a cauldron. But when it comes to hair...watch out." She dodged his inquiry.

"I'm going to ignore that jab at my past faults. What scared you, before you left the room?"

"What do you mean?" She looked down in avoidance of his question.

"Before you went to the bathroom, your face was ash-white. What are _you_ hiding?" Draco's eyes bore into her own. He didn't look like he was about to back down anytime soon. He made an attempt to be as understanding as she had been the past two months. And it scared the hell out of her.

"I can't do this right now. I just can't. I have to leave." Once again, Hermione was off his couch and sliding on her shoes.

"What can't you do? Why can't you let yourself be for just one damn minute, Hermione?" Draco urged her. He had followed her to the door, and now stood in front of her only escape.

"Because I don't know _how _to be, Draco! I don't know how I'm supposed to let go of everything that was. Everything that made me who I am isn't here anymore. I don't know who I am without them. I don't know how to live in this world." Draco knew who she meant by _them_, but he didn't know how to begin to console her as a single, dry sob shook her body. "Now if you'll excuse me," her voice ground out as she snaked by him and made her way down to the street.

Draco slammed his door shut, and walked over to his front-room window. He watched as she trudged carelessly through the snow in the street. Moments later he saw Hermione walk into her flat, close her door and slide down to the floor—she crumpled into a ball as sadness overtook her. Draco was witnessing a breakdown of incredible strength. He wondered if he was a brief affair that she would regret. He wondered if she would vanish from "this world" that she felt she couldn't live in. He wondered if he could save her one last time.


End file.
